Farewell to Girls
by Elina
Summary: Clever girls. Beautiful girls. Dead girls.  [Only mildly NS]
1. Breeze

**Summary:** Clever girls. Beautiful girls. Dead girls.   
** Disclaimer:** All the characters that you might recognize from TV are not mine and never will be. Same goes for anything that you might recognize from pop culture. I do not get paid for this. The summary is stolen from a commercial that ran on Nelonen (Finland's TV4) about the movie "Kiss the Girls", I only modified it a bit. It just sounded so great I had to use it. Well, at least it picked on my creative spot.   
**A/N:** I don't know if this is going to be a serial killer things. Let's see, but... Apparently I like serial killers. I just think they're more fun. Sick me. *g* Oh, and Prompton High is a made up place cos I don't know Las Vegas that well.   
**WARNING: **This story might later on turn to rating R because of either language or content. Scenes of violence may appear in... let's say, some what average form. I'll let you know if that happens.   


**Farewell to Girls**   
  
Part one: Breeze   


  
  
"...and that's it for today. Get out of here, the lot of you," Jim Elwes announced to his class. The teenagers gathered their things, a bit faster than absolutely necessary in his opinion, and as a big, noisy bunch they practically ran out of the door. It was the last class of the day so they hurried their movements even more than usual. "Debra!" Elwes shouted at the retreating bunch and one of them separated from the group, whirling around to look at her teacher from the doorway. He beckoned her to come nearer. "Close the door, I have something to talk to you about."   
  
Debra whispered something to her friends who glared at Elwes. "... wanker," he heard one of them remark. He pretended to not to look at the girls though he couldn't help glancing at them from under his brows. He saw Debra rolling her eyes. "Now, Debra, if you would," he said loud enough for his voice to carry across the room.   
  
One of the girls wiggled her brows at Debra, the others made little kisses, but they left. He didn't care about their gestures, he knew what they were talking about. He wasn't naive enough to dismiss the rumors that went around the school.   
  
Debra pulled the door closed behind her and approached the desk. "So what did you want?"   
  
Elwes looked up from the papers he's been flipping through. The young girl was staring at him with a hand on her hip and an arched eyebrow. He couldn't help but to notice how pretty she looked today; her dark brown hair was pulled back from her face into a ponytail, she was wearing a tight T-shirt and a knee-length skirt. He looked up and down her figure, not bothering to hide the glint in his eyes. "I think you already know what I want."   
  
"Really?" She dropped her backpack onto the floor and propped herself up on the edge of Elwes's desk. "Could you clarify what that is exactly, Mr. Elwes?" she said with a mocking tone.   
  
He straightened himself up, taking in the sight of her sitting on the edge of his desk with her legs delicately crossed, the skirt rising just a bit to reveal the white skin underneath, her back arched slightly, seductively. She was quite a sight, he thought, smiling to himself. So what if the rumors were right? They didn't even know how right. It didn't really matter.   
  
She followed his movements with her big brown eyes as he took a couple of steps to stand right in front of her. His hand touched her bare ankle, slowly starting to slide up her leg. He leant closer. "You shouldn't sit like that," he whispered hoarsely into her ear. "It might bring naughty thoughts into one's mind."   
  
She chuckled, squirming with pleasure as his hand found its way to her tight, uncrossing her legs and separating them. It dived under her skirt as he closed the distance between them, positioning himself between her legs. "I think you like to tease people, don't you?" he whispered even quieter with his lips brushing against her skin. She let her head drop back when he kissed the spot right below her earlobe.   
  
She didn't even try to protest as his hand slipped between her tights. "Is that clarified enough, Ms. Walker?"   
  
She didn't answer. Instead she just smiled and pulled him into a hungry kiss.   
  
***   
  
Her heartbeats pounded in her ears. Thu-thumb. Thu-thumb. Fast thumbs. One after another. They matched her steps, the rhythm of her feet hitting the ground.   
  
She enjoyed the cool, crispy night air, its moist hitting her in the face as she ran. She enjoyed the feeling of her heart racing in her chest, ripping her ribcages apart. She enjoyed the feeling of her tired muscles stretching to their limits, the feeling of not being sure whether they were going to crack or yield. Just a little bit more, just one more mile, just to the next corner. She'll make it. Then she can rest. She set her goal to the bench that sat on the other end of the park. Her pace became faster, the trees flashed by her eyes. Just one more sprint. Thu-thumb. Thu-thumb - it'll rip her ribcage apart. But she could make it. The tears rolled down her face; the fierce blows of the wind beat her body from time to time, rising the dust and making her eyes watery. The tears started to blur her vision but she didn't care to wipe them away. Just a little more and she'd be there. By the bench. It was so painfully close, so close that she could almost touch it. But only almost.   
  
Just.   
  
A little.   
  
More.   
  
"Angh!" A pained yelp escaped from her mouth as she stumbled the last steps, stopping right in front of the blue bench. She bent in double with the pain of drawing in air. It hurt. It hurt like hell. But it was okay. She'd made it. A smile curved her lips. She'd made it. With a satisfied grin on her face she crashed onto the bench. She leant her back against the cool, hard backrest. Breath, she told herself, breath. Small breaths. She waited until the white stars stopped dancing behind her closed eyelids before she cracked them open.   
  
What she saw wasn't exactly what she'd expected.   
  
Where the limb trees begun on the other side of the walk, trees that tried to separate the pathetic little park from the driveway and the gray concrete building across the street that some might call the Prompton High, the shoes whirled around and around in the air, swaying from side to side with the wind. Legs that held the shoes in the air. And the legs attached into a body. A body of a young girl with messed up brown hair and blood on her face and scratches on her knees and a robe around her neck. There it was, right before her eyes, swaying in the night wind. A body. And big brown eyes that stared without seeing.   
  
She screamed.   
  
END OF PART ONE   
  
Feedback would always be appreciated. Just push that little button below....   
  



	2. Wellkept Secrets

A/N: Ha, I finally forced myself to write the next chapter - goodie me. I'm sorry it took so long; I guess my mind has been somewhere else lately. Thank you all for the reviews!! I promise to write the next chapter a bit sooner.   


**Farewell to Girls**   
  
Part Two: Well-kept Secrets

  
The colored lights of the police cars whirled in the night. They cast shadows on the walls of the buildings across the street and on the trees that stooped slightly above the roofs of the cars and the people. The sound of the sirens had died away into the night ages ago already, but the curious passers-by were still lurking behind the yellow tape, stretching their necks to see what was going on within the shadows. Jim Brass squeezed by them as he headed towards the crime scene. He dove under the yellow tape that hung in mid air, just above waist height, isolating a large area of the park from the rest of the world. As he walked, he pulled his rubber gloves on. A couple of officers nodded in recognition as he strode by towards the small group of investigators that worked a little further away where the victim was. One of them, crouched on the ground studying something, straightened up as he saw him advancing. Brass greeted him with a nod. "Captain," the younger detective responded.   
  
Brass glanced upwards to the tree that stood not thirty feet from them. A small sigh escaped from his lungs as his eyes set upon the body, swaying in the autumn wind. The girl's hair, only half tied with a ribbon, hung down as a cloak covering most of her apparently quite attractive face. Such a waste. With a shake of his head, he turned back to the detective. "So, Shelby, what's the story so far? We've got an ID?"   
  
Detective Shelby nodded with certainty. "Yes. We found her backpack further down the walk from a bush. Debra Walker. A student in Prompton High. She's been dead for at least four hours."   
  
"Has someone called her parents?"   
  
"Chris is just searching through the school files for their number."   
  
The sudden breeze of the night wind washed through the park, rattling the leaves and sending the girl's hair flying in the air. For a brief second her glazed, open eyes were exposed for everyone to see. Their empty gaze bored into the ground far below.   
  
Brass turned his eyes away from the girl to the sound of the humming engine pulling in behind the tape. As too figures stepped out of the Tahoe, he started towards them through the shadowed park. A couple of shouts, distant in the cool night, were called out on the other side of the outlined area from one officer to another.   
  
The two CSIs grabbed their kits from the back of the car. Even from distance Brass could recognize the familiar forms of Gil Grissom and Catherine Willows. They both greeted him with a silent nod as he got to them. "What do we have?" Grissom cut to the point as they slowly started to walk towards the crime scene.   
  
In a monotone voice, Brass noticed himself echoing Shelby's words. "Debra Walker, been dead for at least four hours. She's hung from a tree."   
  
Catherine's eyebrow shot up. "Suicide?"   
  
"Doesn't look like it," Brass said with a shake of his head. "Her body is full of cuts and bruises."   
  
"How old was she?"   
  
Brass's hand tucked into his pocket as he inhaled the night air. "In high school, about sixteen, seventeen."   
  
A sad shadow moved across Catherine's face. Brass glanced at her from the side of his eye. He understood her. Just a kid. It could've been Ellie a couple of years back. In silence they paced through the woods and along the walk to the crime scene. Shelby was still around, this time talking to a young woman in a jogging suit sitting on the ground a little further away. Brass noticed Grissom looking at the woman and answered his unsaid question. "She found the body." Grissom nodded as he laid his kit to the ground, opening it and revealing the instruments inside. "Did she touch the body?" he asked, picking up a camera.   
  
"From that height?" He gave a little nod towards the victim. A little one sided smile, not really humored one, appeared on the side of Grissom's mouth. "I guess not." He stopped for a second to gaze up at the swaying legs. Catherine was standing a couple of feet away, her too looking up. The three figures stood still in the night for a second, just looking up.   
  
Once again, Brass turned away with a sigh. "Her backpack was found from a bush down the road," he informed, interrupting the silence between them.   
  
At his words, both of the CSI's seemed to snap out of their thoughts. They glanced at each other. "I'll take it," Catherine said flatly. Grissom just nodded his approval.   
  
With that, Brass turned towards where the younger detective was standing. "Shelby!"   
  
***   
  
The brown bag lay lonely on the ground, as if deserted there in a hurry. It was open and a couple of objects peeked out from between the fabric. Catherine knelt down beside it. "Did you open it?"   
  
The young detective, Shelby, Catherine thought his name was, shook his head, glancing at Catherine's profile with his blue eyes. "No, ma'am. It was open when we found it."   
  
"Did you touch it?"   
  
"Yes, but only to take a look at the wallet."   
  
Catherine's eyes darted at Shelby. "So you moved it?"   
  
"No, ma'am," he corrected hastily. "The wallet was practically out of the pack, I just peeked in to see the name in the driver's license. I didn't move the bag."   
  
Catherine leant closer. "Good," she muttered under her breath.   
  
"Is there anything else, ma'am?"   
  
A smile rose on her lips. "Yes. Stop calling me _ma'am_, it makes me feel old."   
  
"Oh. Um, of course, ma -- I mean, um..."   
  
"Catherine."   
  
The man nodded, relieved. "Catherine."   
  
"That's all, thank you," she replied his previous question with a smile. The detective left, leaving Catherine to unpack her equipment. She took the camera, starting to take pictures. The flash light flashed in the dark night, illuminating the branches of the bush that shadowed the backpack. She had taken about a dozen pictures before something caught her eye. A short, fair hair swaying in the wind. She lowered the camera to her lap. "Well, hey there..."   
  
***   
  
It was all over the morning news._ A high school girl brutally murdered in Las Vegas. _The media loved that kind of a stuff, loved the weeping parents and the school friends, and her age. Her age. There was nothing more delicious than an innocent young kid being murdered. Who did it? Are our children safe anymore? The subject would, without a doubt, end up in every prime time talk show. The mayor election was coming up in a year or so, the candidates would surely put it on every poster. _Elect Mr. Big-Shot for the sake of your children's safety._ It was a subject that every one would hang on to, because, let's face it, in its gruesome being, it was a juicy subject. A real treat. And the media loved it.   
  
Jim Elwes was slumped on the couch, sitting with his arms leaning against his knees, staring at the anchorwoman on the screen of his TV. The picture was a bit hazy and granular. It was an old TV; he'd bought it years ago from a pawnshop, right after he'd gotten out of school and moved to Las Vegas to his first teaching job. It was a crappy TV, but he hadn't ever brought himself to buy a new one. Now, as the picture disappeared for blink of an eye every three seconds and the voice sounded muffled, he hoped he wouldn't have been so lazy and attached to the piece of crap.   
  
The camera showed a reporter standing on the street in front of the park that stood on the other side of the road from Prompton High,_ his Prompton High_. In front of the crime scene. The thought crept up to him out of nowhere. He hadn't really thought about it. Right outside the school. Right after she'd left. _Shit._ His body jerked at the thought._ Shit._ He bounced to his feet, starting to pace the room. _Shit, shit, shit, shit..._ They were going to find out. Without a doubt. Surely they would. They would start asking question, and they'd find out that she's stayed after school. With him. _Shit!_ It wouldn't take a scientist to put two and two together and not come up with seven. They'd examine her body, every millimeter of it, and they would find... They'd find out about them. Surely they would. He brought his hands up to rub on his temples.   
  
So what if they did? They couldn't prove anything. Not a thing. How could they? He spun around on his heels, making up his mind. He would just go to school today, work as usual. He would.   
  
But still he couldn't bring himself to move as he stared....   
  
***   
  
...at the year book picture of Debra Walker filling the television screen. Nick Stokes sighed. "I see they've already eating away with the story," he remarked at the brunette standing next to him.   
  
"So I see," Sara Sidle grunted and turned away, walking to the coffee pot sitting on the counter in the corner of the break room. She reached for the pot and poured herself a full cup. "Any word from the autopsy yet?" She turned back Nick, propping herself against the edge of the counter. The man flicked the small portable TV off as he answered. "Al is just on it, it should be done anytime now."   
  
"Shame it isn't our gig."   
  
Nick smiled at her words. "Gig? That's one way of putting it."   
  
"It's an interesting case, you have to admit it." Her voice was disappointed, and Nick turned to look at her. He closed the space between them with a couple of steps, stopping right in front of Sara.   
  
He steadied his hands against the counter on either side of her body, smiling at her with a wicked grin. "You know, you look hot when you're frustrated." The woman flushed, just slightly. "Shut up," she said, but unable to hold back the small smile that curved her lips. She lifted her hand to his shoulder, tucking at his shirt with the tips of her fingers. Nick took the hint, leaning closer until their lips met.   
  
He jerked back at the sound of the door opening. A yawning lab tech walked into the room. He flashed a sparkling smile at the two CSI's now standing a few feet apart from one another. "Any coffee left?" Oblivious to what had been happening, Greg Sanders walked to the counter, forcing Sara to take a step away from in front of the coffee machine as he reached out to take the pot. "So what have you two been up to?" the wild-haired man asked over his shoulder.   
  
Sara glanced at Nick. "Oh, nothing much," she said with a wink that only Nick could see.   
  
TBC....   
  



	3. Discoveries

**A/N:** To those who are still waiting for new parts to An Old Friend: I'm sorry it's taking so long but things have been building up and I haven't been able to concentrate on that particular piece. I'll be getting back to that story as soon as I get myself tuned to serial killers and f***ed-up minds. *g* Spooky, eh?   
Well, what comes to _this_ story here, I've got the basics scribbled down so the progress should be easier. Blah, blah, blah. On with the story, right? Here we go...  
  
  
  


**Farewell to Girls**  
  
Part Three: Discoveries

  
The air that hit Grissom in the face as he entered the morgue was cool compared to the temperature in the corridors. He could hear Dr. Robbins moving deeper in the room even before he saw him. His steps took him further into the sterile room.   
  
The body of Debra Walker lay on the autopsy table, still, peaceful and pale even against the metallic table. The blood from her face had been cleared out. She had been a pretty girl. Her skin was smooth, even in her death, her eyes fairly big behind the closed eyelids, her nose straight with a couple of freckles on the bridge and her lips clearly lined out, now violet with the lack of blood. Grissom could picture her alive, laughing and joking around with her friends with the enthusiasm of a seventeen-year-old. Poor kid.   
  
As he heard the steps approached, Dr. Robbins glanced over his shoulders. He was just processing the autopsy. "Talking about the devil. You came at the right time." His white-haired head swung around back at the corpse as he finished what ever it was that he had been doing.   
  
A little weary, half-sided smile, not a very humored one, twitched at the side of Grissom's mouth. "What did you find?" he asked as he stopped next to the table on which the body lay.   
  
The coroner grunted, obviously satisfied with his discoveries, and nodded towards a little sample bottle on the side table. "Traces of semen all around her genitals."   
  
Grissom's brow shot up questioningly. "A rape?"   
  
Robbins's head shook. "I didn't find any indications of forced intercourse. She'd had sex before her death, within the past twelve hours."   
  
"What about the cause of death?"   
  
"That is interesting," Robbins replied. Grissom leant closer as the doctor rolled the girl slightly over, exposing her back. It was bluer than the rest of the body, the capillaries were burst. His hand indicated at the blue areas. "The blood was first packed into her backside instead of her feet. The bluish on her feet is visibly lighter. That indicates that she had been lying on her back during and after death. The marks caused by the robe were post-mortal. Her neck hadn't broken, which would've indicated to a suicidal hanging rather than a murder. I'd guess that she was pulled into the tree. This happened several hours after her death. "   
  
"Definitely not a suicide then," Grissom stated the obvious. "What was the cause of death if not the lack of oxygen?"   
  
Robbins rolled the girl back on her back, then pointed to her temple, at fresh, red scar. "See this wound here? It cuts deep into the skull, through the soft tissue and scattering the bone. A sharp, square-like object, quite heavy, I'd say."   
  
"A corner of something?"   
  
The Doc shrugged. "A table, cupboard, a piece of furniture... Could be anything, really. The hit was directed from the left. It caused an internal bleeding in the brains which lead to death quite fast."   
  
"What about the time of death?"   
  
"A little after six o'clock tonight."   
  
"And the scratches?"   
  
"Ah." One finger rose up in the air as if stating the importance of the words yet to come. "The ones on her knees were probably caused by falling down. I found some dirt from them, small stones and similar, sent them to the lab. It was pretty rough, so I'd say either asphalt or concrete. There are small scratches all around, on her hands and arms, that indicate to struggling, trying to escape. These wounds are fairly shallow. She wasn't fighting back that hard. But..." He moved to the head part. As he got there, he traced his gloved finger in the air above two, parallel scratches on her cheek. "These are deeper than the others. And most interesting of all, I found chips from the other one. Red chips."   
  
Grissom's eyes took a fascinated glint. "Red chips," he repeated, his voice full of interest.   
  
"Yeah, I have them right here," Robinson nodded, grabbing a small plastic pack, sealed for the time-being, and handed it to him. "I haven't had time to send them to analysis yet."   
  
Grissom turned the pack around in his hand, examining the chips against the light, then took one last glance at the gray-skinned body of the girl. "I'll take them. Let me know if you find something else."   
  
The response was no more than a grunt as the doctor turned back to his work.   
  
***   
  
"So, how are we doing this?"   
  
Grissom glanced around the CSIs gathered into his office. It had been Warrick speaking. Another way of saying, "Which one of us are you taking in?" The dark-skinned man looked at him quizzically from the doorway, his arms folded and his eye brow arched into a voiceless question.   
  
Grissom took a deep breath as he sat back in his chair, placing his pencil on the table in front of him as he fixed the young man with a look. "We have a shop robbery downtown. You're taking it with Nick." The man's face fell a bit but he didn't say anything, just nodded, as Grissom handed him the case file. "Sara," he turned his attention to the woman sitting in his guest chair, "I need you to process the backpack from the crime scene. Catherine and I are going to the school with Brass."   
  
Sara nodded. For a second there she moved her eyes at Nick, sending some wordless message across the room, making the Texan roll his eyes while he walked to the door with Warrick and left. Grissom decided that he didn't even want to know. As the door closed behind the two CSIs he turned his attention back to Catherine and Sara. "Her parents hadn't seen Debra since she'd left for school yesterday morning. We need to find out where she was during the hours that passed between the end of school and her death."   
  
"You said she hadn't been struggling much. So either she was caught off guard or she knew the killer," Catherine pointed out, making Grissom nod with acceptance.   
  
"At this moment our primary suspect is the person whom she had sex with."   
  
"But why wait four hours to dump her at the park?" Sara cut in. "And why the park? Surely there would've been easier places? Not to say, easier ways?"   
  
"Maybe the killer wanted to make it show. Proudly exposing his results," Catherine suggested, glancing between the others for some kind of a response.   
  
"Or maybe he just wanted her to be found."   
  
***   
  
His fingers drummed the steering wheel nervously. The school was just around the corner and Jim could already see the groups of students heading towards it. He drove slowly, not quite sure he even wanted to get where he was going. He passed a group of girls, some of them he recognized. One of them was crying. Quickly he turned his glance back to the road. So the news was officially out in the open. With a deep breath he pulled into the parking lot. His hands shook, trembled, as he bent down to take his suitcase from where it had slid under the other seat.   
  
He ran his trembling fingers through his brown, short hair, trying to smooth it from places where it stuck out as he glanced into the rear mirror. The dark shade of unshaved hair darkened his cheeks. His eyes widened as he noticed it. How had he forgotten to shave?   
  
A loud bang from next to his car made him jerk up. As he glanced sideways he saw a red Sierra that had appeared into the next spot and the middle body of the driver who was just locking the door. The movements outside brought him back into the present, making him climb out of his car.   
  
Crying people. He couldn't stand crying people. Their unsheltered grief. It made him feel like an intruder. He hid from it, their faces and their eyes that seemed to stare at him as he passed, and rushed his steps as the worn-out twin doors of the school building got closer and closer.   
  
The picture of the candles on the sidewalk was burnt on his retinas. The white candles that he'd seen as he'd arrived. He had refused to think about them then, but now he couldn't help it. Right across the street. She hadn't gotten far. The thought screamed in his head. Not that far. Bloody hell... All the shreds of his previous courage, the thoughts of determination, were slowly starting to escape from his grasp. What if he couldn't make it? A day. Just one day. It's a long time, though.   
  
The hallways were quieter than usually, he noticed as he pushed the door open, entering the gray building. They were all grieving. The walk to the teachers' room seemed liked miles under the sorrow than hung above the corridors as a heavy cloak. He gulped, fastening his pace even more so. More candles. By her locker.   
  
And Emma, one of the girls that'd always been around Debra, one of her friends, weeping in the corner with the rest of the cheerleaders around her, comforting. This time, he couldn't help staring at the group. Her friends. Had she told them? A knot of fear formed in his stomach as he recalled the exchange of words the girls had had last night. Their expressions. Had she told them? Had they guessed? He rushed forward, leaving the girls behind. He rushed to the safety of the teachers' room, not looking around at the other's already there, just walking to his own locker and beginning the day. As usual. The jacket off, into the locker, walk to the table, take the class plans out, focus on them, only them. The coffee pot waited on the large table by which he sat, and he poured himself a cup. Not that he really needed to, he was already jumpy enough. It was just a habit, part of the routine.   
  
Then he looked up.   
  
They were already there. Strange men in the head teacher's office, obviously the police. Like vultures, picking when the meat was still warm. One brown-suited, a short bloke, in his forties, his notebook open in his hand, seated in the guest chair . He seemed to be the one in charge. Another man, him also in civilian clothes, the graying hair covering the top of his head, stood by the window with his back towards the other people in the room but obviously listening to every word. He could see them through the half-closed blinds on the windows of the head teacher's office.   
  
Mrs. Olson's, the head teacher's, mouth moved as she spoke, her blonded curls bouncing about as she nodded to her own words. Jim squinted his eyes. If he looked closely enough maybe he could make out what she was saying. Maybe they were talking about him. Him and Debra.   
  
Mrs. Olson's eyes moved, they glanced over the brown-suited man's shoulder and through the window. They landed on Jim. He darted his eyes away as quickly as possible, starting to fumble through his papers. But he couldn't help the red that burnt his neck, rising to his cheeks, and the stammer of his fingers that shook the papers he was holding. They knew, and he was certain of it.   
  
***   
  
Brass looked at the small woman who sat behind her heavy wooden desk with her hands casually folded on her lap. Her dyed hair was curled into a puffy shrub that outlined her head and filtered the light that poured through the window behind her. Her make-up was carefully done - not too much for a woman in her fifties but still visible - and she was dressed in a gray suit, the greenish chemise peeking from underneath. Altogether, a very well constructed entirety. But it wasn't her appearance but her posture that glowed the respectfulness she wore. Her face was serious, with a glint of delicate mournfulness. "This is really a tragedy," the head teacher mouthed carefully with her voice full of sympathy. Her lined face crumbled into a look of concern. "I can't even imagine how much losing a school fellow will affect the youngsters. Debra was a very popular and friendly girl. I must say I can't imagine how anyone would want to hurt her. It wasn't a suicide, you say?" The words came pouring from her delicately reddened lips, almost sounding like from a handbook.   
  
"That is right," Brass nodded as he answered. "Currently we are investigating this as a homicide, and therefore any information of her whereabouts before her death is useful."   
  
"This has been a shock, and I can assure you that the school will provide all aids necessary to help to solve this crime."   
  
"I'm sure you will, Mrs. Olson."   
  
He glanced at the other man standing by the window. Grissom seemed to be uninterested in the conversation they were sharing, gazing through the window at the school yard, but Brass knew better. He could see him glancing from the side of his eye at the pair of them from time to time.   
  
"Did Debra have a boyfriend, Mrs. Olson?" a female voice was heard from the other side of the room. Catherine sat there in a leather chair next to Shelby who stood by the door. The elder woman's eyes fixed on the CSI. "I'm not sure," she started carefully, pounding every word as if tasting them before they got out, thinking as she spoke. "As I understood it, she was involved with a boy called Jeremy Garrett some time ago but I haven't seen them together for awhile."   
  
"Has anything unusual happened with her recently? Troubles at home? At school? Anything at all?"   
  
Mrs. Olson rushed to answer even before the final words had gotten out of Catherine's mouth. "No, absolutely not. She was a good kid." Her lips tightened. "A good kid," she repeated with an intensity that made Brass frown slightly. "Everybody loved her."   
  
"We would like to interview her classmates. Can that be arranged as soon as possible?" Catherine continued.   
  
From the side of his eye Brass saw Grissom turning around as the woman nodded. He focused his attention to Mrs. Olson. "We'd like to start with her friends."   
  
The elder woman glanced at Grissom, surprised to see him participating in the conversation but didn't respond as she bent down closer to the intercom. "Claire, could you get Allison Danley here."   
  
TBC...   
  
Ps. Oh, I forgot to say 'thank you' with big hugs to those who sent me feedback. So, THANK YOU!   
  



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